His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches) (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

“L
ucian!”

Megan watched in horror as he hit the ground, face contorting as he cradled his right arm against his body. Sheathing her weapon in her leg holster, she worked to calm her horse. When he’d settled, she scrambled down and, sidestepping the dead snake, sprinted to where Lucian lay on his side.

“I’m so sorry,” she stammered, reaching out a hand to touch him only to snatch it back when he grimaced, burst forth with a slew of French. Pale beneath his tan, breathing fast, he held his injured arm tight against his midsection.

“The snake?” he pushed out through clenched teeth.

“Dead. But I’m afraid D’Artagnan bolted.”

He closed his eyes. Muttered in French again.

Sick with worry, she went to her knees beside him, looking for evidence of other injuries. “Does anything else besides your arm hurt?”

He grunted a negative response.

“You didn’t hit your head?”

“Non.”

She skimmed shaky fingers over his scalp to be sure, then turned her attention to his arm. “We need to get that coat off so I can take a look at it. Check if the bone pierced the skin.”

She prayed it hadn’t. That would mean surgery and the potential for complications, as well as risk of infection.
Oh, God, please...

“I don’t feel any blood soaking through,” he panted, wincing as she helped him into a sitting position.

“That’s good. Is it the upper or lower part?”

“Forearm.”

His hair hung in his eyes and bits of grass and dirt clung to his clothes. First she removed the sleeve of his good arm, then she moved around to the other side, sliding the material down as carefully as she could to avoid aggravating the injury. When he flinched and sucked in a harsh breath, she clamped down on her lip to keep from crying.

This was all her fault. She was the reason he was in such agony.
Berate yourself later. Right now you have to focus on helping him.

There was no sign of blood, thank the Lord. But when she rolled up his sleeve, she noticed the swelling right away. And the beginnings of an angry bruise.

“I’ll need to splint this.”

The muscles in his jaw working, he nodded. His dark eyes bored into hers. “I know what you’re thinking, and you can stop it right now.”

Swallowing hard, she pulled her hands away. “If I hadn’t shot at such close range—”

“My horse would be dead.”

“Your horse is gone.” And with him, Lucinda’s Bible. His most treasured possession.

He looked away. “At least he’s alive. Maybe...”

“As soon as we get to Doc Owens, I’ll send for my cousins. They’ll search for him.”

“You did warn me. I just—” Perplexed, he shook his head. “Why didn’t I know you were carrying a gun? And where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“I’ll explain later. We need to get that splint on you and get you back to town as quickly as possible.” Brushing the hair away from his face, she peered closely at him. “Are you dizzy? Nauseous? I’ve read the body can go into shock after an injury like this.”

“I’m okay.”

Of course he would say that. Strong and stubborn man that he was, he wouldn’t be quick to let on how much he was hurting.

“Well, if you do experience any symptoms, tell me. I’m going to go find a stick.”

It took her five minutes to find one the thickness and length she desired, another five to rip her petticoat into strips. He didn’t utter a single sound as she wound the strips about his wrist and the area below his elbow, securing the stick. She used an extra-long length of cloth to fashion a sling.

When she’d helped him to his feet, he stepped over and toed the lifeless reptile with his boot. “Good shot.”

Scooping his coat off the ground, she quickly folded and stowed it in the saddlebag. Leading Mr. Knightley over to him, she took in the pitiful picture he made, his right side all wrapped in her shredded undergarments. “How are we going to do this? You can’t lead him, but if I sit in front, I’m afraid I’ll accidentally bump your arm. The last thing I want to do is cause you additional pain.”

A fine sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead. “We’ll just have to take that chance. I’ll try to shield it with my good arm.”

With one boot in the stirrup and a hand on the saddle horn, Lucian hauled himself up behind Megan. A wave of dizziness washed over him. His body went first hot, then cold, his arm one throbbing mass of pain.

Dear God, Megan insists You care about what happens to me. Well, I’m in a bit of a bind here. Not really sure I can make it to town without sliding off the back of this horse in a dead faint. She’s already feeling guilty about this whole thing, so I can’t exactly tell her how bad off I am. Can You help me stay upright? Please? For Megan’s sake?

He didn’t get a response. No inner voice acknowledging his request. No giddy feelings. Still, it felt good. And right. He hadn’t prayed like that since he was a young boy, when he and his mother would pray together every night before she tucked him into bed. She was the one who’d taught him about God and about His son Jesus, had read the Scriptures to him. As he’d grown older, he’d lost interest in those rituals he’d considered childish.

Now he wasn’t so sure he wasn’t missing out on something vitally important.

Oh, and God, could You please bring my horse back to me? He and I go way back, and, well, I’d hate to lose him. And my mother’s Bible. I’d like to have that back, too. I promise I’ll read it this time.

The trek down the mountain dragged on interminably. Due to the slope of the land, he had to fight gravity, lean backward at a slight angle so as not to fall forward into Megan’s back. The shade was both a blessing and a curse, depending on whether he was sweating or shivering. His body couldn’t seem to make up its mind.

Megan had asked him only once if he thought he could make it. After that, she’d concentrated all her attention on guiding her horse so as not to jar his arm. Now, though, he needed a distraction. Something to focus on besides his screaming wound and occasional dizzy spell.

“Talk to me, Megan,” he murmured. “Tell me about the gun.”

Her backward glance gave him a glimpse of her eyes, huge and dark with worry, at odds with the determined set of her chin. Beneath her feminine softness and delicate beauty lay a brave soul, strong and courageous. He counted himself fortunate to be in her capable hands. Many other young ladies in her position would’ve fainted or indulged in a fit of hysterics.

“It was a present from Josh. After our father passed, he thought we needed to learn how to protect ourselves and our property should trouble arise. He taught all of us girls how to shoot. Except for my mother. She refused to learn.”

“Why don’t you wear a holster about your waist? Where did you have it hidden? In your boot?”

“Josh fashioned a leg holster for me.” She hitched a shoulder. “I don’t wear it around the cabin or in town. Just when I’m out exploring. You never know who might be passing through.”

“Or what wild animals you might have to defend yourself against.”

The horse stepped into a dip. Lucian’s hand shot out and cupped her waist as a way to brace himself. She rested hers atop his, pressing hard.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He wanted to curl his arm about her and pull her snug against him, but his busted arm prevented him. He settled for this small connection.

“Have you ever broken anything before?” She tilted to the left to avoid hitting a low-slung branch face-first.

He mimicked her action. The forest had thickened, the trees growing closer together here. She concentrated on navigating around gnarled roots jutting out of the ground.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So, thanks to me, you’ve just suffered your first broken bone.” Her sigh was rife with self-disgust. “Great. Just great.”

He gripped her waist a fraction tighter. “Stop blaming yourself. I saw the gun. I knew what you were planning. I should never have let go of the reins. This injury is a result of my own stupidity, Megan.”

“You do know what this means, don’t you?” Her voice was low and strained.

Of course he did. He opted for a lighter note. “That I won’t be penning any poems for a while?”

“Lucian—”

“Stop the horse and look at me.”

Easing back on the reins, she waited until they had stopped to half turn in the saddle.

He cupped her chin, forced her to look him square in the eyes. He spoke clearly and with conviction, determined to make her see reason. “What you did back there took guts and skill. I’ll always be thankful you saved D’Artagnan’s life. I’d rather him be roaming these mountains without me than lying dead from my bullet because of a snakebite.” He jerked his chin towards his arm. “This is a temporary setback. So I’ll have to postpone my return. So what? Trust me, New Orleans will survive just fine without me.”

He refused to think about what a prolonged visit might lead to. More than anything, he was petrified he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her, that he’d wind up hurting her. Megan was a true innocent, her pure heart untouched by the cynicism with which he viewed the world. He would not be the man to tarnish that wellspring of optimism or dash her dreams of a marriage based on mutual trust and love.

But when her lower lip quivered and tears welled in her great big eyes, his heart went butter-soft.

“Please don’t cry over me,” he pleaded on a ragged whisper, unable to resist pressing his lips to hers, if only to stop their trembling.
Sweet. And vulnerable.
He broke contact, reluctantly, and brushed away a tear that had escaped. “I’m not worth it,
mon bien-aime.
Surely you know that.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, you are.” Her fierce expression dared him to argue the point. In that instant, Lucian understood how precariously close he was to tumbling into love with this woman. Him. A man who’d sworn off love and all the complications that went along with it.

He grimaced, aching physically and emotionally. “How much longer until we reach town?”

“Another half an hour. Can you make it? Do you need to dismount and rest for a bit?”

The concern and caring in her gaze made him feel reckless. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to think of all that was at stake. His sanity, for one. And her heart—well, he couldn’t very well risk that, could he? “I can make it.”

Thankfully, she turned and nudged Mr. Knightley into motion once more. By the time they halted outside the doctor’s home, Lucian was light-headed and weak from holding himself rigid in the saddle. Somehow he managed to dismount without landing on his rear in the dirt. Wouldn’t that make a nice impression on the upstanding folks of Gatlinburg? Lucian Beaumont sprawled in the middle of Main Street trussed up in a lady’s undergarments?

As Megan assisted him inside the neatly furnished parlor, he swayed. Sat down hard in the nearest chair and fought the unpleasant queasiness in his middle.

“I’ll go get Doc,” Megan assured him, rushing from the room.

All he could do was sit there and hope he wasn’t about to embarrass himself by getting sick right there in the doc’s parlor.

* * *

“I’d advise you not to travel for at least a month,” the doctor announced as he washed his hands in the basin. “You need to give that arm plenty of time to heal. If you injure it further before then, there’s no telling what kind of permanent damage you might sustain.”

Lucian’s eyes were closed. “I understand.”

Perched in a chair beside the bed, Megan worried the material of her skirt. Having refused chloroform and put off the laudanum until he got home, he’d endured the doctor’s examination and the wrapping of his lower arm in plaster of Paris without pain reliever. She’d remained at his side throughout the entire process, had felt each wince and grimace clear down to her toes. He was holding back on account of her. And it had cost him.

Tension bracketed his mouth, his clean-shaven jaw like carved stone. His brown hair was damp with sweat.

Wearing his usual stern expression, the doctor came and rested a hand on her shoulder while addressing his patient. “Count yourself fortunate to have had this one along. She did everything right, from the splint and sling to getting you here in a timely manner.”

Lucian’s lids lifted a fraction. “She was amazing out there, sir.”

Megan dipped her head. Wasn’t he forgetting something? Like how he wouldn’t be in this predicament if it weren’t for her? Guilt weighed heavily. She’d desperately wanted Lucian to stay, but not like this.

To Megan, he instructed, “Make sure he takes the laudanum as soon as you get him home. He’s going to need lots of rest.”

“Yes, sir.” Rising, she briefly touched Lucian’s hand. “Josh is waiting out front with the wagon. I’ll go tell him you’re ready to go. He can help get you settled.”

“I’m not an invalid.” Nostrils flaring, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position with the use of his good arm. “I can make it on my own steam.”

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting a little help now and then, young man,” the doctor chided.

Lucian dragged a hand down his face, then looked at Megan. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“I know that.” He was in pain and trying desperately to hide it. The sooner he was tucked in bed, the better. “Ready?”

He stood, pausing for a minute to get his bearings. Ignoring her instinct to hover, she preceded him out of the room and down the hall, his footsteps heavy behind her. As they emerged on to the porch, Josh looked up from the book he’d been reading and snapped it closed. Pushing out of the rocking chair, he approached with concern marring his brow.

He gave Lucian a once-over. “Everything all right?”

“It could’ve been worse,” Lucian admitted. “It wasn’t bad enough to require surgery, thank goodness.”

“Just the one bone was broken,” Megan added.

“That’s something to be thankful for.” Eyeing the sling, he nodded and rubbed his goatee. “Nathan and Caleb are out searching for your horse. I’ll join them as soon as we have you settled.”

“I appreciate the help.” Gratitude laced his voice.